#or maybe there won't

[notmuchtoconceal]

can we get a hypno story? enticing the boy into the cave before feeding on him

My Friend, you have done so well to seek Me out.

The day is bright, the fields are green, the skies are brown with dust.

I do not wish to Stir Your Heart, though merely Soothe Your Sole.

The road is long, the ravine is sharp, the sights all the more sure to shock you.

A granite grey chasm would shine silver as spearpoint, on this our Sepia Day.

I must admit, though I crave the still and somberness of these, My Own compartments, I nonetheless delight in whatever fresh face would deign gift me with its grace, and I must say -- a face still such as yours does not disappoint on that depart, My Friend.

You are So -- it shocks to think you could not see it so yourself -- such a Young and Spritely Lad, indeed You Are.

A Mind, My Friend, is such a lovely place to spend an afternoon or two. Though I do, I Say, I Must Admit, I two have spent the better part of these, my longer hours whisked away in solitary bowls, dreaming all the day away, though I longed to labor by the railroad

oh,

/

Imagine That? Oh me? A Dirty and Simple Laborer? There's nothing wrong with an Honest Life of Simple Work, the Dignity in Fighting Off Those Things Which Would Impose Their Will Upon You.

Oh without fight, My Friend, what Are You? Are you Making Choices if you are it seems, without protest, always Agreeing to Agree?

Agree?

Why to Agree to what? I have no Wares to Hawk nor Spins to Print, for I am yellow merely in my clemence, black and white though I am Read Far and Wide and Pressed All Over.

Redder days come slick at dusk, though I hate to Spurn The Field of Battle. What crows do caw, To Night's A Retreat, and by The Moon I Calm my feet as they Lap Gently by the Shores.

Already? Why, the day is done -- time has flown, we must have surely had some fun? How fast these heavy weights would drop, these lead flecked masses in which we're anchored to the earth and moment. This perennial trudge forward through time every agonizing instant I must Remember and Be Aware for I Am At All Times Myself, My Own Man, Who Is Above These Conditions, conditioned though he could only ever be, hair sloughed off his scalp. You needn't think you need be on guard all times, My Friend. These People Who Hurt You, you know -- it would be uncharitable to describe them as outliers as they were in Many Ways Oh So Typical, yet nonetheless, what can you do? Is anyone really above anyone or anything? Why, of course not, no -- to arrange, which is the catalyst of the construction of all hierarchies is simply the consequence of sin. To impose The Unnatural Order of A Preference Upon The Natural Order of Spontaneous Perfection.

The only real rubric which is hubris, in deigning to divide the wheat from the chaff of humankind when man is so much more than grain. All these Poor Little Fools All Done Up In Their Tombs Dying with Their Delusions of Grandeur. Leaving their descendants to putrefy away in gilded cages descending to hell, for here is Our World of Illusions Wrought of the Love for Ourselves We Displaced Onto Others.

Dear me, I do hope I'm not boning you My Friend.

I do worry I talk too much at length, drifting tables off to continents away, though you know You Listen So Well, I'd Hate to Think I could be anything less than All You Could Ever Wish to Hear.

Perhaps it's simply late?

The fire crackles and salt smoke billows in the breeze, your feet so warm and stirring by the sand? You can almost remember, can't you? How much I loved you once here, at this precise point and place, many summers ago, when we made love by the waxing moon?

Oh no?

No, you needn't remember, My Friend.

We are all Poor Fools When We Are In Love.

It Wasn't Really You. Not That Any One Is Really Any Thing.

You know, people deny themselves a lot, they do. Projection theory is such a convenient excuse. It denies an individual their own energetic resonance, for they wish so badly they could live in solitude, they simply invent a preference for reality where they are islands without effort and have no need to manufacture vast seas around themselves ;-- and so there are no storms to break, to kick up whirlpools by a conjurer's trick,

why look -- down here, beneath the sea!

Silver Birds in Masques of Black Rest, why He is Sure to Make The Four To Fall In Glee!

True Alienage is a A Lot of Work, My Friend. There are tremendous weights one must undertake before they may be cursed to call themselves Alone.

You can Drop Them All Off. Down Here. In the roaring currant. They May Fall and Drift and Sink Away

and No One Need Ever Remember.

Remember?

Why, remember what?

Those many days you lingered here with me, in this our bridal chamber by the sea? The sepulcher that was the bridal chamber, of our sister Antigone?

Neither Theban nor Athenian, the spring still stirring echoes. Far Older Was My Love For Her, as Older Still Was My Love For You.

My Friend, it would not be so barbaric to forget. It is simply a consequence of fate, as no man is ever really in awareness of those vast infinities of all the things he Really Is.

You Could Never Know What You Invite Into Yourself --

So Given Beyond Measure,

Many Invitations That You Are.

Well, I have Accepted, you'll be Glad to Hear.

We're out in the tanzhaus and it's two to a club! The lattice of stars stains glass overhead as halos of storm clouds pike pincers of stud!

The Wind is Coming, Do You Hear It? Do You Hear?

We Must Hurry, Me Must Hurry.

There is shelter somewhere near!

Don't be so slow, you needn't tell, what a mutant that I am.

Dilemmas and their Drive Throughs -- going faster going faster, we don't wanna dick it right -- stuck at Genesis all night long!

What Advantages I Have are Mine To Call My Own.

I'm Simply Born Different. Born Better. Still, Forever.

Severed, I would never, why what what would make you think me any less? I am loathsome, I am hideous, I am begotten by absence and sin! You are so right to be with me, you really must be getting bored?

Oh there's no shaking you off, I can tell!

Suppose I'm stuck with you, I am!

Suppose I must be warming up, these icemelts won't quiver yonder. A string, a bow, you are a gift, to you I have quilled my shaft. Had you centaur hooves, you'd have a saddle too, and harness for your half.

There it is, just down below, where the prairie eclipses the breeze, where screamings roar and quell, in our granite by the seas.

The jaws outstretched, no night below, I will light us torches in the dark. For down below, I have gone before, as time is without purpose in purposeless arts... there seeming so little purpose in asking more.

These depths in which I descend, you see -- you don't -- but you may hear and feel, with the rhythm of our palpitating hearts, the silent songs in rolling ducts, what poisons thrum within our darts!

I might pierce you as you flail, flat roid-flank that you dream.

Swollen helpless in buffets of fear, fat and pregnant though you doubt I will relent, or will I relay, but bite down harder to claim what isn't mine, but mine for the taking, loathsome bedbug that I am?

Why My Friend, you Are My Brother,

You Wouldn't Wanna Do That Thing With Me?

That is Shocking, That is Shameful.

Well, I Don't Think Anyone Is Looking.

Why perchance has it come to pass, that I could live another life to meet you? You Really Must Be Going, You Can't Possibly Be Him.

I really couldn't love another, no not another live long day.

I was working by the railroad, watching him toil the night away.

I was midnight oil, slowly broiling life from clay.

The men I mold, I'm sure you're told, are of sturdier stuff than wood and scruff, or scrap all heaped up from the deep to burn cast-iron in the sun. Scalding crayfish with The Sea, and too His Knights of Exquisite Custody, each man's flank a buffet of nations, divided into constellations, carapace etched to plates of beating breasts, bent as bows of ships cleaving eyes as foamy tides for fun.

English is a language of jesters for the gestures, it's all muttspeak for the dogs! Why anyone who takes it seriously is shirley doing it wrong.

Had you Better Taste, My Friend, you would not fly your honied ears. I had strips of tapes, all adhesives in my cakes. I taste braindeath twice a morning, once in bed, and then at breakfast. It's only vulgar if you spit at sweetness and substitute a vinegar of yours.

Why would I ever wish to break you, when you wish to break yourself? The rocks which roared beneath the tide, why, did the sea nymphs beg you meet them? I would not dare to implant or to suggest, but invite any whimsy you ingest. For in me you see so effortlessly all those things you wish you'd never be.

What I say or do not say, you lay all the traps yourself. I see you do and so I say to you, and you think I do you wrong?

Well what can I do but say and pray when I watch you die agrain?

That I saw it coming and if I said or if I didn't, you'd find some means to contradict me? Oh you are so certain, that I know for sure! It really will go right this time, if I just believe your soul is pure. Were I the God you'd Begged For, I'd Have Struck Some Fear In You By Now!

For in My Love You Putrefy, and Of Your Putrescence, I Drink Deep.

Were your liver rotten meat, so carmelized and sweet, I would scald it black as tar, spritzed with mists of cabaret.

Brother, Brother, Please Be Going!

I'm Telling You, My Love Could Mean Nothing To You Anymore!

You would much prefer to live your life knowing this could never be! You had no chance, it wasn't you, why you're but a normal me!

Resist this last temptation, the life you lead is peat! There are so many who still love you, and you have so many things to eat!

What could you see in me that would make you follow me down here? Down here, into this black abyss many feet beneath the sea? Why I never lured you, I all but begged you that you flee!

I don't know, I think it's wrong, or at least could never be /. right.

I'd hate to disappoint you though, having come so far this night.

There are places that I know, for my brothers who aren't we. I never think it through, though a part of me still clues -- the other half, you know, this really wasn't meant to last?

Do you see the roots as they choke and shoot, well try not to step they're afluid with yoke, ovipositors out of testicular tumors where I saw artglass windows sprout in shattered ballast walls.

What is a disease My Friend, but a state of prolonged mistake? Sometimes the most roundabout way is not to twist back -- to attempt to degrade to some state of retrograde, but attain equilibrium anew.

You are Not What You Are, I'm Sad To Say --

Though I will live to Say it Another Day, I'm Sure.

Please do come along, we're almost done. I'm tired and late for a movie date I'd mischeduled in discharity of time.

These caverns vaster than fields of skin-melt alabaster radiate with the heat of their own hearts. Do you see them, do you see them, what miles lay beyond the stony ramparts? Perhaps you could not extend so far your gaze, writhing larval in the shadows near translucent in their glaze?

What stirs within their guts, those so many algol nuts?

We Will Know You Well In Time I'm Sure,

And Resist You Well of That I'll Cure!

Do not feel yourself running, there is nowhere left to go. For in any direction which you make, you will find you pinned to steak. Running nowhere, getting somewhere, somewhere vacant you won't start? You are fading now, and there is nowhere left, you are but these debugs in your scull, mein frau. I see you now, I see you, getting there stuck in sputtering soars, oh wow! All you are is bit rot, and your hardware long outdated now!

An Age of Reduction, I Degree, As Penance for Your Bloat.

The salt of the chamber scarring arms as you trudge forward some shapes not distant, bracing against a movement which isn't yours, starting nothing but something. A shelter of trees down some archway bracing upward, clutching fruit from the glistening darkness, a hotbox of stars in terse, knobby hardwood of dehydrated pits flecked with cilia barbed with leaden molasses. These writhing shapes, the trees of the head half-dissolved in egg-whites, hollowed in their locking notches, kissing eels conjoined to zipper-teeth scalding iron in a garland of tongues, drooling silver-fire down canyons gilt of bronze.

I am the fields, as I too am the blades which thresh the fields.

The quire boys, the scholars, mucosal and milk powder, festooned by the chains of their notary and typeblock, barbed wire round their throats and cocks, tribal chokers of cage lining ;-- eyeballs rolling back into throbbing fat-face dick bulge leaking precum from their folds and di(ck)scharge outta dick-kisser fuck mouths.

I am the brain, as I too am the porcelain which scrubs the brain.

And now, forty minutes of a free jazz ensemble beating a chaste Christian Men's College Wrestling Team to Death with brass instruments as assault weapons are freely distributed to the gallery!

[intermission]

[canisalbus]

A handful of (tastefully cropped) work in progress shots.

[lazylittledragon]

Hello I love your bg3 content and your Dorian is so lovely! Can we get like an alternative reality with Dorian and Ascended Astarion? What would your headcannon be for them? 🙇

something like this, probably

[aunmenosheteroenespanol]

2.12 Chimney Begins - 2.09 Hen Begins - 2.16 Bobby Begins Again - 7.04 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered

Tommy's family arc

[cyellolemon]

Also super quick labru thing because i needed to draw t4t labru but i didn't manage to draw any better than that sryyy

[theelmoarchive]

More people than I expected enjoyed my chip rotting drawing so have my silly designs 🫶

They're not updated from the stuff more toward episode 100-115 cause I drew them right after the outfit change💥🐊🔥 i might draw updated versions soon who knows,,

[ryllen]

the next thing u know, yuu would have the possession of malleus' bones

[dandylyn]

hen of honor💐

[hypewinter]

Danny is currently in possession of a baby Damian. He is unaware that he is in possession of Damian Wayne let alone how he came to be in the possession of Damian Wayne. All he knows is that the bats are after him and won't leave him alone.

[notmuchtoconceal]

bro, what should i say which would consecrate this day?

what ought i may which would impress upon the trees, brah?

by foam and by spray, bleeding runes staining furrows from bark :-- of lance-edge stripped to words you carve -.- of your body, all i see, what is splendid of your work -.- yet by your hands, i am this defacement unknown :-- evidently untimely, more pencil-necked than knot, i would be hanged by your every word, had you anchoring to speak.

by your ballast, my hankerings sire hangmen and i am guaranteed, by this silence, another line for the notching -:- when a letterman denies his letter, for his felt would deface his hide, by what right has he to tiger his stripes, earned them though he has by gashes to the referee?

you'd bring that up here and now, bro? what does it matter, man? the ass of our jammers got eaten away by the years. our goggles snapped in half. the chlorine which kept the scum from the pool petrified our skin and corroded our gear. i'd have hair green as haylofts on emerald streets had i gall to bristle night Angkor morning, auf jeden fall yet i, yeti white -/~

my limbs were not heavy, your bleariness weighed leaden, upon brow-ridges wan snowbanks bore through you in memoriam every spring, yet heaved on your traps we carved icefloats in flowers, and all was glass which lashed when it shattered -/'

(shatter-proof theroux as <\> / this half-mask could never be.)

you are a beast, and i am an arteest --

what sweet refuge we sought in the lie of the feast.

why yes now i can see, it's plain as the day is slight, behold you in the approaching night, all blackness which i beckon, for blackness burns brightly in me! i who was uprooted, yet sucked nourishment from the soil! bootlicking brethren! pompous and porous thing! a sponge spewing yolk in which to fester its gut, stream screamers rut codes of corruption!

crawling in the luminous night, as spiderwebs of gossamer cross galaxies in distant blight, what is plain as scum yet still so clearly you see --:--

i am all which glimmers, as i am all which impresses upon your eyes. colors between colors as i am spheres orbiting funnels of skies, the terminal point you will never reach, glass ceilings of the mechanism of time ) ( all billiards clamoring without bounds in their spheres, as atoms collide neither here nor there, some zoetrope of things which lime.

where dusk falls, every luminance radiates twilight, the dream kingdom i spread with every step, as all things long to find union in me .- i which am all-giving and consuming which spit back so much more than i chew yet in one bite i'm up to the elbow of a hand which will feed me still more for i will strip from the floor all of what copious flow we have lost

get down and lick in advance of his step :--

( )

my brother is a king and i am his maker!

;3 ( o ) ;3

babes he will batter, froth all he will whisk!

in steel cages he mangles fluidity in friction

--. ( o ) -.-

sped-up in a slurry swirling corkscrews through tongues.

tap to tip to root uptrod plunging with eager wile to steal suction lip pressed to lip in embrace here i am bled of nothing but sloth which hardens my veins upraised in crags of radium fool's gold vierzehn karat filth i see the sun shining cross cresting hillocks of verdant greens all the more healthful and hopeless for sloughing off the shrubbery whole!

brah?

yeah, bro?

i don't care. if it has to be bad.

bro.

you're my brother. you mean everything to me. i never want anything to come between us again.

in your arms all is right, and yet your arms so warm leave me cold, for i ache for the substance of what lies still unknown.

i who live in dreams and sow discord by what i leave unseen, i hear all loud and clear, though i mire with omission all these things which i state, so they come to compose a cage -- a yoke, a shell, a fin, a bowl -- as what i green burnest reddens when moisture still clings to its folds.

you're my brother.

you're in my arms and nothing, no matter how sleek or how slender, how wyrd or how wearisome, could press once more through our cleave, to pin us by pearl ta flaps partnerin the other.

what is that? do you see?

over the waters, the light and the mists?

what beckons there brightly?

spectral and silver?

the mists are her gown, strutting chandeliers of star!

some veil which conspires by conjurers conjoined, to find themselves hoisted in sneer, hooked pinky and nose, as a skirt glimpsed betwixt legs of a table you crawled for the shelter of some drapery and cold?

throw back your swords, the lady is coming!

though over water, not in, you lie a dog for the resurrection, dramas our sacraments the mother of escapes, more numinous than the years we've consented to age, I lean on my death, as one must inevitably leave.

she is here!

her form coalesces clamshell on pearl!

the nymph, she can strut, and the ice does not shatter ~

her delicate touch leaves me wanting and lost.

though hearts i see in the head of every vein, branching from their axes, a pick to the surface, each fracture is broken by its proximity to shape ~

into fissures the mirror of the whole ,~, burning dim as the embers of my whispering bowl!

invisible sister, you've ununinvited yourself! what an entrance you've made, it would surely make do -- if you unmade it as quickly, might we may chug a brew! libation and station, we know our cross well, and so wear bearskin rug, to trod gleefully with cleats, just to see what punctures we'll pierce by brail with the lappings of our feet!

~ My invitation, i'm certain, was lost in the mail-room. It must have slipped your mind, curtain as it crossed my drink! O, Semi-Transparent Brother, seeing you once more has me simply tickled pink! Sing brightly once more of those oils you mink? A buck's plenty good for way more than a shuck if you can keep his guts hoist-up long enough to get the cadaver unstuck?

darling, if for a few hundred pounds of carcass you seek, turn away from my brother, and to me kindly now speak -- bright though he shines, insubstantial he is, for he blinds by a radiance which leaves him scalding to the touch, over a shade we must mount him, to shield our eyes from his much -- a pity though it leaves him in darkness as such.

~ Opaque and Immovable Brother, you speak fondly, though coarsely. As the sun blisters sands, the sands scald the feet, calloused though they are by stone and by peat. Your fractures, though myriad, twist and bite as bone shards serrated knife-edged in sinews, twisting for sheer love of a deepening touch, as we all three know well, I'm sure -- Semi-Transparent Brother and I, sharing a need to know more.

a writing desk i leave raving, a schreibtisch stands screaming, as all the while my memory roars racing, thought though i thought i was!

-/- Grounding and grinding, you refine your grains as you quicken your gains, soothing these things by frictions methodical. An embroidery stitching itself to a letter which longs to be, emblazoned so curtly upon your sleeve! Speak kindly of him and you will reward him well, for you are the light he needs to navigate himself -- a fiction tautological, merely mermen and me, diving always headfirst towards the dark off the shelf!

corkscrewing's for duckies, in a petri-dish we now meet.

i have not, now nor i ever, the tiniest feet

spikes ring my collar pollen blackens my cilia

as my veins we sing que sera to the sweet

bounties left rotting for splendors which knew what grotesqueries we ought make

as splendid were the wounds we made of our stake

Do You See How She Me

( )

~ A tongue I confound, a stem I'll knot. Through fields I leap, to the ball I am bound. A frontispiece, an engraving. A plaque sterling as teeth!

Brother, do you see? Do you see?

This infinitude of things which'll always be?

I was not speaking. I had not a word.

What I left unsaid, I saw would never be sawed.

Brother, see?

you know

(i'm sorry i was blind)

i'm not a blind man

you were always on my

(but truth is the hardest thing)

you see

We Are One And The Same

This multitude I gift the fields.

Of all the things I bequeath the trees.

\

/

\

When he reclined, and his head was neither level nor adjacent, he could see the grass, and his eyeline was level with the palm of his hand.

Semi-Transparent Brother stood watching them. Proximate to the lacerations which marred the surfaces of his skin, the heat of his blood crystallized into solar cells, refracting dermatological webbings of his sublimated processes, his own solidified light mass so subtle beside the greater mass of his brother, his orbit was catastrophe in embrace.

Before his eyes, they rose. Before his eyes, they stilled and joined.

Slight in his hollow cheeks, his own shoulders tapering, holding himself spine-aloft as the skeleton of a steel girder in the warm knit of his winterclothes, his wool cap and the flannel beneath his leather, his denim so neatly cuffed, the stubble gaunt on his face blended him more evenly with the soil, notes of bark roaring over silences, cicadas chirping winter choruses at dusk in the bellies of the honking geese; and yet he could hear nothing as hell was the only season he knew, pallid as his wanting was, wanton for the slighter substance of himself, something which crawled through the chambers of his bones demanded kneading -- though he had only sugar molecules, his brain ketone-deprived from the saccharides he took, and would have gone so much further without, fed off nothing but the detritus of his own tank, some bottom dwelling cocksucker implacable but for its mount was always stuck.

Opaque and Immovable Brother, face twice dopey as broad, settled into its stoicism as it arrested under her glaze. The flush of his flesh, the stolidity of his features, dry, heaving, knobby, the bones of his face vaulted as halls in which debates would never be held, for he ruled with arbitration, opened to her and she stood beside him, mingling with the columns which strutted him, a silhouette in her own statuary, spectral and marbled with the patina of a glamor neither emerald green nor fatty meat, yet dazzling from haloes of bronze napalm to oxide iridescence, what fires burnt brightly as burnished walls in silver and smog, as all was mirrored in what surfaces she clogged -- for as broad as he was, a dish she would serve, olives to be skewered on every branch she extended, to lime and to bitter the swill which would poison, as scorpions barb the kisses of every cipher she'd pose, black as the mirror of her obsidian rose.

He was watching. He was watching still.

The moments passing. What of them would pass.

She stood watching, she did, her eyes bright as aether through stars, suctioned all up, brightly silvered as milkglass in porridges we drop, oilbright as lamps burning dark as the cane, candystripped as streamers of drool dire for firewalls breached, and all the while more, the stockings net and tweak. What more could be said, there is nothing unsubtle to speak, for all the fingers she's wrapped around thumbs we will peek.

For with a glance of her eyes, a tilt of her chin, she realigns spheres as he rolls like a boulder, the landmasses alight, the mountains cradling suns, to torch stormwinds at night, desert masses upheaved by crowns of the advancing shrike. There is more to say, yet not more to say now, for what moves up and down through singsongs galore are looking always to shirk, gored on his antlers once more. Halo-like is her hair, shining laurel-bright in the dark, she is tickling him now, and he laughs through grit teeth, his every pleasure so painful when it's not yours to cow.

( )

[mariyekos]

Okay to reblog to help sample size!

[buggachat]

honestly just in general it's very exhausting to try to analyze media that is literally meant to be analyzed, only for the replies to be filled with people arguing not against your analysis, but against the premise that the media can be analyzed at all.

i don't even know what to say about it without starting to really betray my frustration, so i'll just settle with— just don't engage with analysis posts? I'm serious. if you're typing a response to a media analysis post, reread what you've written and ask yourself "is this comment/response against the very concept of analyzing the media at all?" and if the answer is yes then delete it all and go sit in the shame corner. throw your curtains away if you want to so bad and stop telling me that I'm not allowed to hum and haw at the fact mine are blue

[99thpercentile]

places where the audio distorts

image ids under the cut

tmagp 4:

tmagp 5:

tmagp 7:

tmagp 8:

the audio distorts when people lie.

I imagine this knowledge will come in handy later.

[id: ALICE: This is not something you go poking around in. Not if you want to keep your job… or your neck. SAM: (a little amused) Okay, okay! I get it. Consider me scared straight. "Consider me scared straight" is highlighted. end id]

[id: LENA: Now, while I understand your concerns, you need to understand that Colin has held the IT Manager position for some time without incident, and although he is somewhat… frustrated with his current assignment, he can request help from the central IT team at any time. I am certain that should he find his responsibilities unmanageable, he will request assistance. Or resign, of course. Either way, the problem will resolve itself. "Or resign, of course" is highlighted. end id]

[id: CELIA: Is there any way to look up specific files? ALICE: Like what? CELIA: Oh, I don’t know. Every case about… being buried alive, or meat, or… whatever. ALICE: Well, there’s a search bar, but it doesn’t actually do anything. You’d have to dig through them all manually. (suspicious) – Why do you ask? CELIA: Just figuring it all out. Ah well, I guess I’ll need to find Bigfoot on my own time. "Just figuring it all out" is highlighted. end id]

[id: GERTRUDE: I see. Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think Gerry can help you – GERRY: (casually) Yeah, I barely remember any of it. "I don’t think Gerry can help you" is highlighted. end id]

[id: GERRY: Oh yeah, but I was pretty young. I remember filling in a bunch of forms and questionnaires, then some old men asking me questions about what books I liked to read, who did I look up to, that kind of thing. And then I left. SAM: (disappointed) That’s all? GERRY: Yeah, afraid so. Other than just sitting around with a bunch of other kids in a room that smelled like old books. "Yeah, afraid so" is highlighted. end id]

[id: CELIA: I’m trying to look into… Weird physics stuff: time travel, other dimensions, teleportation, all that good stuff. Freddy doesn’t really do searches, so you could keep an eye out and let me know if any come up in your cases? SAM: Uh, sounds a bit sci-fi compared to our usuals. What’s this for? (amused breath) You’re not doing research for that podcast you were on, are you? CELIA: (surprised) You know about that? SAM: I might have given you a quick Google. CELIA: Then… yeah. I’m doing a favor for Georgie. "yeah. I’m doing a favor for Georgie" is highlighted. end id]

[cheeekycharchar]

AN ANGEL ON A MISSION

I just realized what Michael Sheen's face was doing during the end credits and OMFG he is beyond amazing! *o*

I already did an indepth analysis on why Aziraphale acted the way he did after that heart wrenching kiss scene.. but it wasn't until @charlotteharlatan post about the Nightingale song on the car's radio could have been that got my brain into a tizzy.

"Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. Two of these were wrong."

Many people paint Aziraphale as this gullible innocent character but don't forget.. he is highly intelligent. Completely traumatized by his past abusive relationship with Heaven but intelligent.

When Metatron told him of their Second Coming plan.. how quickly he put things together before stepping onto that elevator. He turns toward Crowley to give him one last look and heads up to Heaven.

And for the next minute.. we watch as Michael Sheen micro-contorts his expression through the stages of grief.

Shock from hearing Heaven's plans for the Second Coming. Anger for realizing what he was just tricked into doing. Despair for what he gave up when he thought he was making the right choice. And then reorganizing his thoughts and acceptance of his current situation. And that final smirk.. ;) oh.. OH! That is the face of an Angel on a mission against Heaven. And he's already made up his mind. Stop Heaven's plans (again). Get revenge on them for forcing him into this situation. And of course, to get his Crowley back.

GO S3 is gonna be INSANE :D

[nothorses]

today in material transphobia:

my insurance asks for my AGAB as well as my gender, then uses my AGAB as my de-facto gender marker on all documents without telling me.

my adderall (which I have to order by mail because I'm on an island) is then stuck in "processing" for a week, and I am forced to call just to find out why. Its because the gender my psychiatrist and pharmacy use is "male", but my insurance has me listed as "female", so they can't give me my medication.

when I call my insurance to fix this, a man argues with me about why I need to be listed as "female" even though my gender has been "male", legally, to the state as well as the federal government, since before I signed up for this insurance in the first place. he says there are "internal biological differences", then that people cannot access or get coverage for care they need without the "female" gender marker- pap smears, abortion, birth control, etc.

so now my options are:

1. change my gender marker to "female" for all of my medical information/documentation, including dental (bc it's the same insurance), even though the vast majority of my medical care has nothing to do with my AGAB- I don't need to be "female" to need adderall, for example- or

2. give up all access to and coverage for medical needs related to my reproductive system.

anyway, I got my gender marker changed to "male" with my insurance, since that was the fastest way to get my medication. I guess we'll see what happens when I need a pap smear next.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

substitute